Diving into the Oven

Sarah Ann Loreth "The Oven"

Diving into the Oven
__________________

“the evidence worn
by salt and away into
this threadbare beauty”
—Adrienne Rich
“Diving into the Wreck,”
Poems 1971-1972
____________________

I didn’t have time—
To say goodbye not that
I wanted to, it all came as
A rather sudden surprise

I burned the letter—
In the heavy glass ashtray
While he watched me
Knowing it was over
____________________

He’d already given up—
On me and I’d already done
The same with him, our so-so
Marriage was never that great

Ted was so much like Daddy—
Straight outta some dead Shoe
Just another Mytholmroyd hood
A dumb Heathcliff of the moors
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I expected a gun—
Him loading it with silver bullets
Or maybe a sharp knife-blade
To slice my delicate white throat

Or maybe even body-armor—
A black rubber diving suit with
Absurd flippers to awkwardly
Dump me into the Thames
____________________

I could just see him—
Pretending to be like Cousteau
The Estate’s assiduous Captain
Aboard his dumpy schooner

There’s the ladder—
The ladder always hanging
Innocently down into the dark
Depths of the Oven’s guts

We both knew it was over—
Now it was time for him to
Play the final act out for me:
“The Rabbit Catcher” routine

I knew what it was for—
Others had used it many times
Before, an otherwise sundry
Maritime ladder into hell
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I went down—
Rung after rung and slowly
The gas immersed me in
That Popsicle blue light

I went down—
My strap-on high-heels
Like clumsy flippers as I
Dived into the Dead Sea
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I could feel him—
Shoving me further into
The Oven making sure that
I’d get plenty of gas

But now it was easy—
To forget what I came for
Among so many Wellesley
Wishes & Bell Jar dreams
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I’d always wanted to be—
A chic Mademoiselle diva
A Manhattan chanteuse
A famous New Yorker poet

I came to explore the Oven—
Poetry was always a descent
The words were maps leading
Down into the Underworld
____________________

I came to see the damage—
If any treasures still prevailed
I stroked the bruise of my
Forehead, it was permanent

The thing I came for—
Was the thing I left behind
The wreck and not the story
of the wreck, the thing itself
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And not the myth either—
My drowned face always staring
Back at the Fitzroy flat and the
Threadbare beauty I left behind

The sexy Yorkshire Killer—
The handsome Rabbit Catcher
The Haunters doing the Hunting
I didn’t even have a chance
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This is the place and here—
I am Mermaid of the Wreck
My brown hair streams black
I am she: She was me

My drowned face screams—
Beneath my gangrene lips
Half-wedged and left to rot like
A Heptonstall water-eaten log